


Some Would Sing and Some Would Scream

by StupidGenius



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Bartender Stiles Stilinski, Detective Derek Hale, M/M, Minor Character Death, POV Derek, POV Stiles, Stiles Has Panic Attacks, erica is very protective okay, every ship needs a castle AU, i apologize in advance for all the deaths of Stiles' friends, i watch castle every night so im not gonna lie this was heavily inspired by it, mostly derek though, stiles uses his (perfectly normal okay?) knowledge of crime to help Derek solve murders
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-04
Updated: 2015-04-04
Packaged: 2018-03-20 20:09:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3663369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StupidGenius/pseuds/StupidGenius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Please. You’re just trying to come up with reasons to hate him.”</p><p>“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”</p><p>“I saw you, giving him the eyes.” he blinked at her. “You know. Your I-think-you’re-hot-and-I’d-like-to-fuck-you-over-a-table-eyes, which, rude. The boy’s girlfriend just died.”</p><p>“Ex.” He corrected.</p><p>“I knew it.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Some Would Sing and Some Would Scream

**Author's Note:**

> I shouldn't have started this, honestly, because I've got too many unfinished fics already. But i couldn't finsih my other ones with this idea in my head, so here it is. I have maybe a billion fics started, because i start a new one every time i get distracted. Jesus.

Derek loved being a detective, don’t get him wrong. He loved the rush of it all, the sense of accomplishment he got when he caught a killer. But mornings like these…he didn’t like it so much.

It was seven am. He’d woken up half an hour ago, an hour earlier than usual, and was forced to drag his tired ass down to a not-so-nice part of town. When he got there, his partner, Erica, was waiting for him, cup of coffee in her hand, Isaac talking excitedly beside her. When she held out the cup, he grunted his thanks.

“What do we have here?” He said once he was finally able to speak. Isaac motioned for him to follow.

“Got a call this morning, car on patrol saw the body while she was driving by. She thought maybe the lady just passed out, but it was pretty clear that wasn’t the case.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean,” the curly haired blonde lifted the blue tarp over the body, and Derek winced. “Her head was cut clean off.”

“Ow.” He said simply. The other coroner, Boyd, nodded in agreement. “Is that what killed her?”

“I’m not sure. I might’ve been able to judge by the amount of blood around her, but there’s no blood anywhere, so the body must’ve been moved. Whoever did this didn’t do it here. And,” he paused, crouching down. “The officer found the body like this. Not dumped in the trash or anything. Positioned just like this on the ground, head on a literal silver platter.”

“Crap.” Derek sighed, rubbing his temples. Beside him, Erica smirked.

“Yup. You know what that means, Hale.” She looked up at him. “Probably got a serial killer on our hands.”

“It’s too early for this.” He grumbled, sipping his coffee.

“Killers don’t work for your convenience, pretty boy.” He rolled his eyes at her.

“Got an ID yet?”

“No, not yet.” Isaac shook his head. “ Her wallet is either missing, or she never had it with her to begin with. She does look a bit familiar though, maybe-”

“Sir, you have to stay back.” One of the officers in the front was shouting. Derek and Erica turned, watching as a kid struggled with them.

“My dad’s a cop!” He shouted, then promptly vaulted over the yellow tape and made a run for the body.

This was certainly an interesting day.

The guy stopped short before anybody else could make a grab for him. He stood completely still, staring in wide eyed horror at the body. Derek stalked over to him, ready to possibly arrest him for messing with a police investigation, but then the guy – who wasn’t a kid, Derek could see that now – opened his mouth.

“Heather.” He breathed. Oh.

He knew her.

“You knew the victim?”

“Y-yeah.” The guy gulped. “We work at the bar together. She stayed late last night to lock up.”

“We’re you the only other person with her last night?”

“I think so. I told her she didn’t have to stay, but she…she said she wanted to.” He pressed a hand to his mouth. “I should’ve stayed.”

“Alright.” Derek motioned Erica over. “Take this one down to station for questioning.”

“What?!” the man shouted. “I didn’t do anything!”

“I know.” Derek said as softly as he could manage. By the look on Erica’s face, it wasn’t gentle enough. “But you might have been the last to see her alive, so we’re gonna need to question you. And any other co-workers.” He explained.

“Oh. Right.” he said weakly. “I knew that.”

 

* * *

 

 

Stiles never had reason to find out what the inside of an NYPD interrogation room looked like before. It was bigger, colder than the one in Beacon Hills. There was a big mirror across from him, and he knew the people behind it were probably feeling unnerved by it, but he couldn’t stop staring at it.

Heather was dead. She was _dead_. Stiles was the one that was supposed to lock up last night. Not her. He was the one that should’ve gotten his head sliced off. Not her. As if he didn’t feel guilty enough for dumping her a month ago, now she was _dead_. This was probably all his fault. He should have pushed her to go home. She looked so tired. She deserves sleep. In her nice, comfy bed, next to the stuffed animal she kept since she was five. She didn’t deserve to have her body locked in the morgue, some random guy stitching her head back to her body for viewing. Oh god. That wasn’t a mental image he wanted. Fuck. Shit. There was no air in this room, was there? He remembered there being air a minute ago, but now-

“Mr. Stilinski?” someone said, I bit too loud. Stiles sucked in a breath, lungs aching.

“S-sorry.” He muttered, blinking. He turned to look at the detectives.

One was a woman with a blonde hair and dark brown eyes. She wore bright red lipstick and a leather jacket. The guy next to her had incredible eyebrows and dark stubble. Also in a leather jacket. He wondered if all NYPD detectives were former super models.

“You said you were with Ms. Rosenberg last night?” The man asked.

“Uh, yeah.” Stiles scratched at the back of his neck, staring down at the table. “It w-was my turn to lock up. I got in trouble last week, so Finstock is making me open and close for a month.”

“Were you two close?” the blonde asked. Stiles contemplating lying. Because the breakup would only put him on the suspect list. But then the image of her body flooded his mind, and he felt like he might puke.

“Yes.” He swallowed thickly. “We’ve been f-friends since we were old enough to crawl. We tried dating for a couple months, but…it didn’t work out.”

“Who broke up with whom?”

“I broke up with her. She didn’t seem too upset about it. We still talked an everything. She was-” he sucked in a sharp breath, trying to calm his rapidly beating heart. He could only hold off the panic attack for so long. “She said there was this guy… she was thinking about asking him out, she told me last night, right before I – I left.”

“Did she tell you anything about him? How long did she know him?”

“Sh-she-e didn’t, not really, I-I think. Just some cute guy in her class, I g-guess. I don’t-” his hands shook. “I can’t – I don’t know why – she was nice.” He finished. He couldn’t look at them. His childhood friend was dead. His last connection to mom’s healthy days. Shit. _Shit_.

“Mr. Stilinski?” one of them asked. He couldn’t _breathe_ , let alone answer them. “Fuck. Something’s wrong with him.”

“Hey, calm down, it’s alright.”

“Take him to Isaac, get him to calm down.”

“Erica-”

“Go.”

 

* * *

 

 

Isaac was a gentle man with soft golden curls and bright blue eyes. That’s all Stiles could focus on while the panic attack ripped through him. There was a mask over his nose and mouth, and it was helping calm him down, a little, even if it wasn’t actually doing anything. Isaac was talking to him, but it took him a full minute to hear the words.

“…kind of an asshole, most of the time, but he’s really not so bad when you get to know him. And his sister – Cora, not the older one – she is pretty. Like, very.” He finished. Stiles blinked up at him. “Better?” stiles nodded.

“Sorry.” He rasped. Isaac smiled softly at him.

“Don’t apologize. I get those sometimes; I know what it’s like.”

“Do they think it was me?” Stiles finally asked.

“I sure don’t. I don’t think you’re capable of murder, mister Stilinski.” The man informed him. He felt himself smile a little.

“It’s Stiles.”

 

* * *

 

 

“So,” Erica took a bite of her sandwich. “Got any ideas yet?” Derek considered it for a moment.

“The ex-boyfriend could’ve-”

“No way.” The blonde shook her head. “Were you there, like, at all? He had a panic attack halfway through the interrogation. He’d been shaking like a leaf ever since we brought him in. Poor kid was probably traumatized after this morning.”

“It could have been because he was afraid we would find him out.” Derek suggested. Erica scoffed, rolling her eyes. He glared at her. “What?”

“Please. You’re just trying to come up with reasons to hate him.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I saw you, giving him the eyes.” he blinked at her. “You know. Your I-think-you’re-hot-and-I’d-like-to-fuck-you-over-a-table-years, which, rude. The boy’s girlfriend just died.”

“Ex.” He corrected.

“I knew it.”

“Just because I think a suspect is cute – I’m not discussing thins with you. I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t be able to sleep with him anyway, so stop with whatever plot you have building in your head. Stop worrying about my sex life and focus on your own. I can hear you and Boyd in the morgue when you think no one is around, which I find disgusting, because there are dead people in there. Dead people fluids.” He pointed out. She just pat his shoulder and continued to look over the list.

“Alright. What about the owner. Finstock looked like he was a few crayons short, if you know what I mean.”

“He didn’t do it.” Derek sighed. Erica raised any eyebrow. “He…he was my high school lacrosse coach. He’s harmless.”

“Oh my god.”

“Please don’t.”

“But you were so _tiny_ in high school.” She laughed. “I can’t imagine-”

“Erica.” He growled. She raised her hands in surrender, snickering.

“Fine, fine. Let’s get back to the homicide.”

“Thank you.”

 

* * *

 

 

It isn’t until a few days later that they get any information useful to the case.

He was just about to leave for the day, hand on the glass doors and shrugging on his coat, when Stiles – as Mr. Stilinski had them call him – rushed past him and into the building. Derek frowned down at where his hand rested on the door, contemplating what to do. He could go home right now. Let the others handle it. He’d been working almost 24/7 these past few weeks, it would be completely okay.

He turned around and ran after the kid.

“Stiles!” He called. The guy skid to halt in front of Erica’s desk, barely glancing at him. Derek huffed, following him.

“You said to come to you if I found anything relevant, right?” Stiles sounded out of breath, like he’d run from where he was to the department. Derek took the paper he was waving around and narrowed his eyes at it. “I found this tapped to my door this morning.”

_Southern trees bear a strange fruit,_

_Blood on the leaves and blood at the root,_

_Black body swinging in the Southern breeze,_

_Strange fruit hanging from the poplar trees._

_Pastoral scene of the gallant South,_

_The bulging eyes and the twisted mouth,_

_Scent of magnolia sweet and fresh,_

_And the sudden smell of burning flesh!_

_Here is a fruit for the crows to pluck,_

_For the rain to gather, for the wind to suck,_

_For the sun to rot, for a tree to drop,_

_Here is a strange and bitter crop._

“What the hell is this?” Derek asked. Stiles shook his head.

“A poem. ‘Strange Fruit’, Lewis Allan. I remember reading it in high school.” He reached into his coat pocket, and Derek finally noticed that his hands were shaking.

In the five days since the murder, Stiles had been to the station almost as much as Derek had. He claimed he was used to it, since his dad was a cop back where he was from, and he wanted to help them with the case any way he could. When Derek told his roommate, Lydia, she told him it was a bad idea. And he should have agreed with her. But Stiles kept looking at him with those _eyes_ , and he couldn’t say no.

Erica had been right. He was screwed.

“What’s that?” Erica watched Stiles unfold the other paper he held.

“I uh…this was there too. I think…I think they’re going after someone else.”

“‘She was only the first, little boy.’” Erica read. She raised an eyebrow. “Who are we dealing with here, a Disney villain?” Derek snorted. Stiles let out a hollow laugh.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Stiles’ phone suddenly pings, and he looks down at it with a strange expression on his face. He sucked in a shaky breath.

“Everything alright?” Derek wondered. Stiles nodded.

“Uh, yeah, I – friend didn’t show up for work. I gotta – fill in for her. I’m sorry, I have to – bye!” they watched him leave, hurrying out the same way he came. Derek thinks about the conversation they had about Spiderman yesterday, the way his face lit up at the welcome distraction. Erica smirked.

“You sure did find yourself a weird one, Hale.”

 

* * *

 

 

Scott’s text was what made him realize. After re-reading the poem, he forced back the panic and made his way to the cemetery.

The poem had been about the cruelty done to African – Americans in the early 1900s, so that’s what he’d been focused on. He didn’t understand why the killer had sent this to him. But then Scott sent him that text wondering where Kira was, and then he knew. The poem wasn’t about history. Well, not history that far back, anyway.

The killer sent it to him because of the suicide last year. According to the news, the girl’s stepmother had been a terrible person, verbally abusing her any chance she got. So the girl went out one night, climbed the tallest tree in the cemetery near his apartment, and hung herself. It had been all over the news for weeks. That had to be what the murderer was talking about. Kira was at the cemetery.

Stiles parked the jeep outside the large iron gates and rushed out, pushing them open and running inside. He skid to a halt when he reached the end.

The tall tree didn’t have anything hanging from it. But that wasn’t why he stopped. He stopped because the warehouse only thirty feet away was on fire, and that was Kira’s car parked outside.

“Kira!” he screamed, running into the building.

It was a bad idea.

 

* * *

 

 

Stiles’ eyes stung, his lungs burned, and he stumbled and tripped near the end of the warehouse. He could see a human shaped lump near him, saw her eyes gazing at him, unseeing, and cried out.

“Kira!” he tried to get up.

He couldn’t.

The last thing he heard before blacking out, over the roar of the fire, was the faint sound of sirens.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this at school.
> 
> In code, because im a nerd and paranoid. 
> 
> Help me.


End file.
